


Liberation

by Vera_dAuriac



Category: Don Pasquale-Donizetti/Ruffini
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Carriage Sex, Con Artists, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, Pre-Canon, Scams, Vaginal Sex, Wax Play, opera - Freeform, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25657147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: One day, Doctor Malatesta meets the lovely Norina, and he gets an idea of how they can help each other. She has additional ideas.
Relationships: Norina/Malatesta
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [automaticdreamlandkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/automaticdreamlandkid/gifts).



> This is 100% inspired by the Met's production with Mariusz Kwiecień and Anna Netrebko. I refuse to believe those two aren't fucking, and what they pull on Don Pasquale is absolutely not their first scam. So, this is how I think they first started scamming, and sleeping, with each other.
> 
> The lovely Automaticdreamlandkid has been the greatest cheerleader for this fic and this ship a writer could possibly ask for. Thank you, darling!
> 
> Also, don't own these folks, but it was a great deal of fun to play with them all the same.

**by Vera d'Auriac**

The first time Malatesta became aware of Norina, she had her hand in his pocket, and not in the way he enjoyed having a young lady’s hand on his hip.

He was vaguely familiar with her. She had only been widowed perhaps a few months, and if she mourned her late husband, it did not prevent her from attending the finest (or perhaps second finest) garden parties in Rome. And primarily to pick pockets, it seemed. Of course, he discovered later that she mourned nothing but the deplorable financial state her husband had left her in. But at that moment, Malatesta only knew that a very beautiful young lady had her fingers wrapped around the thing he loved second most in his trousers.

“I’m afraid I rather need my money purse,” he told her, eyes narrowing.

“What would you say if I told you that I need it more?” Her big brown eyes pleaded with him from beneath fluttering lashes in a way he found utterly intriguing. She was stunning, young, bold, and inexperienced. But he also suspected she was intelligent. She wore a simple pink dress that blended into the crowd, and yet it was well enough made no one would question her right to be here. And then when she shuffled back from him, he caught a peek at her shoes. New, sturdy, practical, and something she had clearly invested some money in. She also seemed supremely comfortable in her body, her bodice providing tantalizing hints about what lay beneath, while all the time her demeanor loudly proclaimed she never gave a second thought to her décolletage. If she was, in fact, a touch inexpert, he did not mind, as he felt in a teaching mood.

“Well, if you need it, allow me to propose a solution in which we both get what we want.” He shifted to lean on the cane he did not need, examining her in the pause. “Have you ever done any acting?”

She snorted, a trait he found personally charming, but that he would have to train out of her in public. “Wandering around some stage lamenting my poor lost love? I don’t think so.”

“What about convincing someone that you’re someone you actually are not?”

“Oh, that! I’ve been doing that since I realized men liked to give lost little girls candies.”

“Then may I suggest we leave here and have a conversation that I believe will be advantageous to us both?”

“Is that a fancy way of saying you want to fuck me?”

“My dear, that is my way of suggesting so much more.” He slipped on his glasses and waggled his eyebrows above the frames, his sliest grin parting his lips. “Allow me to teach you how best to liberate excess money and jewels from some of Rome’s most gullible citizens.”

***

Some liberation attempts, Malatesta well knew, inevitably do not go as planned. He accepted these failures, believing that as long as he remained out of prison and unmaimed, he would at least come out of the experience with an amusing anecdote. His first simple liberations with Norina, however, led to no stories, and he had to content himself with money in his pocket.

She proved an even quicker study than he had guessed that day at the garden party. Norina only required someone helping her to learn how to hone her natural talents and assets into tools. They began with a naïve boy from Naples just come up to Rome to study art after inheriting some money from an aunt who grew olives. According to Norina, he would need more than the inheritance of a king to pay for enough lessons to learn how to draw. Luckily, his drawing master preferred being paid in scudi rather than the dead aunt’s gems, several of which made their way to Norina.

On one of their subsequent outings to find the next rich dunderhead, a sweet old widow, Donna Maria, asked Malatesta when he had gotten married. It took him a beat to realize that she thought Norina was his wife. Later at that same ball, while Norina was already off with a rather slow young army officer in shiny boots, he met the Marquess and Marchioness of Belmonte, newly arrived from Spain. In a few days they would be headed to Venice, which normally would have put an end to Malatesta’s plotting, even given how dim and trusting the couple seemed.

But he thought about Donna Maria’s mistake and what he and Norina might not be able to accomplish in a city where everyone did not know them. They could even pose as a married couple, earning them invitations to events they may not receive individually. And they would have to live together, giving them infinite time to plan. It would be ideal.

“What a fascinating coincidence,” Malatesta said with his most charming grin. “I was planning a trip to Venice myself! Spring really is the perfect time to visit. Where will you be staying?”

When Norina rejoined him, face aglow with triumph over the army officer, Malatesta steered her to a corner behind a potted fern where the Belmontes would not see them. She showed him a lovely pearl broach, and he asked her if she had ever wanted to go to Venice. Her squint made him laugh loudly enough to attract the attention of the old ladies seated in the other side of the fern.

“My apologies,” he said, covering his mouth, and nodding to the sweet ladies.

“The last time you asked me that sort of question at a party,” she whispered, “I asked if that were your way of getting me into bed.”

“As it happens, my dear, I rather am asking you into the marriage bed. Let us depart so that I might explain in private.”

***

Norina took the suggestion with enthusiasm, and while she packed her finest dresses, Malatesta reclined in the lounge under the umbrella on her roof and they went over the details of their “marriage.”

They had married six months earlier after a whirlwind romance, in which they just knew they were right for each other. Neither had family to please, his parents both dead, and Norina the ward of an elderly aunt who raised her. They enjoyed suppers and reading together. She wasn’t a morning person, but being a doctor had accustomed him to behave pleasantly at any time of day. She loved his laugh, and he couldn’t resist poking the tip of her nose. They were madly in love and certain they always would be.

On their first night on the road to Venice, they stayed at a respectable inn with large rooms, so that he might make a sort of nest for himself on a couch while Norina took the bed. They were finishing up their supper and intending to head back up to their room when a rather pretty young man walked into the dining room. His dark curls were an unruly mess over his chiseled face. The clothes he wore were expensive but wrinkled and worn haphazardly. He had a couple of books under one arm and a considerable amount on his mind, as he seemed to not even notice Norina’s presence. When Malatesta looked at her, expecting to exchange amused grins at the little fop’s absentmindedness, however, he found her staring admiringly at the idiot.

For a heartbeat, Malatesta thought he might be jealous, which would be absurd if it were true. Then he realized that she was most likely assessing this boy for what they could potentially liberate from him, and Malatesta breathed easier. Of course there was no reason to be jealous. Not that he had feelings to be jealous about. It had been a momentary and absurd notion he need never think about again.

“Do you need a glass of wine?” she loudly offered the newcomer in order to get his attention.

“What? Wine? Oh yes. Thank you. That would be lovely.”

The dazed young man sat down with them and Norina grabbed an empty glass off the sideboard behind her. He appeared incapable of basic social interactions, still clinging to his books as he sat there, saying nothing.

With a deep breath, Malatesta began the introductions.

It turned out the boy was Giordano Pavoni, a poet traveling to the countryside for inspiration. “In Rome, poetry seems to wither and die. There is no inspiration to be had there,” he complained with a heavy sigh. Malatesta rather thought throughout history one or two poets and other artistically tempered people had found a modicum of inspiration in Rome, but he did not wish to interrupt the boy. “I need trees and a softly running creek. Birds and rabbits and clean air!”

“That is so beautiful,” Norina said, leaning on the table to better display the fit of her bodice. “Tell me more about your poetry.”

Unfortunately, the boy not only took her up on this offer, but shared some of his “better verse” he had struggled to pen while living in the Eternal City. He then went on to tell them a bit about himself—the only child of indulgent parents who owned a villa another day’s journey from this inn. He was headed there to find his Muse, riding along the bumpy roads in a carriage that sounded fit for an Emperor. “But what is comfort when I have no words? Perhaps I would be benefited by struggle? I do not know. But I must believe I will find the music of life at my family’s villa.”

What became stunningly clear by the time they said “Good night” was that the young poet had money, and he just as clearly had no idea how to manage it. Had they met Giordano in the natural course of events back in Rome, they would have concentrated on liberating some of his family’s wealth to their own use. Malatesta and Norina even discussed the possibility back up in their room.

“Do you want to follow Giordano instead of continuing to Venice?” he asked, holding his breath for no reason that he could account for. It certainly had nothing to do with how Norina had rested her hand over Giordano’s while she praised his sonnet. Because that would be ridiculous. The sonnet had been childish nonsense. Then again, he had often seen the worst romance novels in her rooms. Perhaps she lacked refined literary tastes. Her head might be turned by a mediocre poet with broad shoulders and a lilting voice when he said things like “first flowers of spring opening at the touch of the sun,” or some such stupidity.

She wrinkled her nose. “If we didn’t have the Belmontes waiting, I’d say yes. He’s a complete moron. But I’ve never been to Venice.”

Malatesta exhaled and began undoing his scarf and getting ready for bed.

***

Norina lit up Venice. She was loved at every ball and invited to every party. Malatesta felt like a proud teacher loosing his prized pupil on the world. He hovered in the background, chatting with the ladies who feared they suffered from terribly maladies (when they were just idle and unimaginative) and the gentlemen with gout.

The Belmontes continued to be charmed by them both. The Marchioness found Norina’s vitality charming, and the Marquess appreciated the fact that Malatesta agreed with everything he said. More importantly, they both proved as gullible in fact as they had seemed on first acquaintance in Rome. The trip would unquestionably be worth it.

For several weeks, the “Malatestas” and the Belmontes were never to be seen without each other. They shared gondolas and meals, and soon the ladies were exchanging shoes and gloves, followed shortly by the swapping of jewels, the Marchioness’s diamonds and rubies for Norina’s well-constructed paste.

In the meantime, Malatesta and Norina strolled and boated around the city as though they were the happiest newlyweds in Europe. In fact, when they walked about the city, arm-in-arm, her body would inevitably lean against his side when she grew tired, as though nothing could be more natural. When floating about in a gondola, her head rested on his shoulder, until she spied something that caught her interest, and then she would fling herself about his neck and nearly tip the boat over in her enthusiasm.

But they did not touch one another for the sake of delighting in the feel of the other person. Heaven forbid! No, they were playing parts and playing them so well, no one in Venice doubted their passion.

Soon they were invited to a ball at one of the grandest palazzos on the Grand Canal. Norina was in her finest dress—a perfectly constructed marvel of dark blue velvet that made her look like a queen. He had on his newest breeches and black coat, shirt pure white and with the exact amount of frills as Venetian society preferred at the moment. Their gondola docked, and they entered the palazzo just as the dancing was about to begin. He opened his mouth to suggest they find the Belmontes since they had been forced to come separately, but before he could speak, Norina squeezed his arm, which she had wrapped in her own.

“Would you care to dance with your bride?”

He thought for only the briefest moment of protesting about locating the Belmontes, but they could wait the length of a dance. Why shouldn’t he and Norina have a little pleasure with their business? “I would like nothing more.”

They joined the others about to begin the dance, his hand finding a home at the small of her back. A wave of…something traveled up from his fingers, through his arm, and right to his head. But before he could think about what that something might be, the musicians started their song, and Norina nudged him into motion.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked.

He smiled as unconcernedly as he could manage, and he hoped it was enough to quiet her on this subject. “I can’t imagine how a man could feel better than by dancing with you. Have I mentioned that you are a vision tonight?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “Hmm. I remember ‘lovely’ and ‘beautiful.’ I think ‘vision’ is new. Well done.”

They danced on, swirling among the other partygoers. He knew he ought to be on the lookout for the Belmontes so he might approach them after the dance, but he simply could not take his eyes off Norina. She was just so distracting with her shiny black hair piled loosely atop her head, flashes of her yellow-stockinged leg showing through the slit in her dress when she twirled. Not a woman in Venice could compete with her, and she was all his.

As a ruse.

The song came to an end, and he took her hand and brought it to his lips. In return, she kissed his cheek as she had taken to doing when in company, so as to enhance their appearance of a couple in love. He had found this charming at first, but now he had that same sense of something racing through his body as he had felt when he had put his hand on her lower back. It was rather annoying that he could not put his finger on something that flustered him so decidedly.

But it was vital for the Belmontes to believe they were man and wife, and so he muddled along admirably for the rest of the night, first when they found the Belmontes and drank wine together, and later when the Belmontes left early because the Marchioness felt a headache coming on. And he continued ignoring these new sensations even in the dark as their gondola took them home, his new jacket spread over Norina, her head in his lap.

He thought these musings about what he had felt briefly in those two moments would leave him once he lay down for the night, but that was not to be. Instead, he found himself thinking from his bed on the sofa in the tiny apartment he had rented for them about what it would be like if Norina were his wife. She slept so peacefully, and he smiled at the soft groans of contentment she made at the end of a good night. If they were married, actually married, he would be in the bed with her, not watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, but feeling the heat of her breath against his cheek.

“Nonsense,” he whispered. He loved women, loved them so much, in fact, he did not care to limit himself to just one. So, he did not really want to _marry_ Norina. But there was no denying how much he wanted to sleep with her. “Terrible idea,” he also whispered to the moonlight coming through the gauzy curtains. Getting involved in…that way with someone he was working with could not be a worse idea. Their partnership was so successful. It would be madness to risk that merely for the pleasures of the flesh. “But, oh what flesh!”

“Mmm? What? Did you say something?” Norina mumbled from the bed.

“Nothing at all. Go back to sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, Norina’s bodice stuffed with emeralds and pearls, they departed Venice to return to Rome. Before they departed, Malatesta had made certain the news of the Marquess’s more interesting proclivities would begin making the rounds of Venetian society. The rumors would likely drive them back to Spain, but if they did not, they would ruin the Belmontes’ credibility so much no one would believe anything unpleasant they might claim about the jewels Norina had swapped with the Marchioness.

The only slight hint that everything was less than perfect were the ridiculous thoughts still plaguing Malatesta about Norina. But once they returned to Rome and their normal lives, and did not find themselves in such constant company, he had no doubt his odd infatuation would fade. He merely required some physical distance from her. Once he no longer lived with her as a pretend husband, they could return to being friends and business partners. Which was how she had always viewed their relationship. Only he suffered from these silly pangs of desire.

“You’re so dull today,” Norina said as the carriage jostled over the terrible road.

Malatesta realized he had been staring blankly out the window and not speaking for…he could not say how long. He forced a smile to his lips, though, and determined to engage with her as if everything were normal. “Early starts are not my preference, and I’m thinking about what I need to attend to when we return to Rome. Very dull stuff, I know. My sincerest apologies. How would you like me to amuse you?”

“Well, now I feel bad,” she harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t always have to amuse me. Maybe I should amuse you.”

He crooked a more devilish grin at her, finding himself quite interested to hear what she had in mind. She might read to him from one of the romance novels she enjoyed laughing at. Or she might recount another of her stories from her time spent picking some of the fullest pockets in Rome. “I must say, I am intrigued to see what you have in mind.”

If his smile held something of the devil in it, then hers was positively impish. “Oh, I believe I can come up with something quite interesting.”

With this, she sank back in her seat across from him. He always gave her the front-facing seat to herself so she could spread out her things and fluff her skirts and whatnot. The view afforded him by sitting across from her was something he tried not to think about. Especially at this moment when he found himself suddenly wanting her so helplessly.

But she didn’t settle back so that she might be more comfortable. No, she did it with a purpose. It took several seconds to devise that purpose, but then a silk-covered foot that had lost its shoe slithered out from under her skirts. This foot stretched across the distance between them and found its way to the back of his calf. She rubbed this foot of hers, covered in one of her favorite pink stockings, up and down his leg, and when he looked up to see what she had to say for herself, she met his gaze. She also twisted her mouth up at one corner and raised her eyebrows playfully. But she did not laugh or give any indication that she saw this as some sort of silly game.

He swallowed, but it didn’t come easily.

“That isn’t the kind of amusement I was expecting.”

“But you’re not complaining.” Her foot made its way higher, up and over his knee. She rubbed it first deliberately along the inside of one thigh and then the other. He longed to snap his legs shut, but that would trap her foot in his lap, and that was rather the opposite of what he wanted. Heaven knew his first priority needed to be getting her toes away from his burgeoning erection.

“I’m not sure I see this as the best amusement.”

“Oh? Really? Then that lump in your pants is what exactly?”

He glanced down and saw that, well, yes, his erection was past burgeoning now, and anyone who saw him would know that. “We are business partners, Norina. Mixing pleasure with our business is likely to have no good outcome.”

“You think so? Because I think the outcome could be a lot of fun. And if we’re both willing….”

She sank deeper in the seat and pushed her foot deeper between his legs, until it pressed against—

The carriage lurched violently to the right and then forward. (For the sake of what he held most dear, Malatesta thanked God it happened in that order, given where Norina’s foot was located.) They spluttered to a stop, and the carriage listed awkwardly to the right. Norina had tumbled from her seat and now clutched his thighs, and Malatesta found himself cradling her by instinct.

“Are you alright?” he asked once he caught his breath.

“I think so. Yes, yes, I’m fine. But I’d guess the carriage has lost a wheel.”

Malatesta maneuvered carefully to the door at the right, hoping to not tip them over entirely, but he trusted himself to crawl up to the other door even less. He could hear the horses protesting and their driver swearing. Whatever awaited outside would be unpleasant. And yet, he had no doubt that the problems with the carriage would be easier to cope with than what had been occurring between him and Norina thirty seconds earlier.

***

The wheel had, indeed, fallen off the carriage and the axle was broken on top of that. As luck would have it, their misfortune occurred within easy walking distance of a small town with an inn and a blacksmith. If Malatesta were more cynical, he would think the enterprising citizens of the town dug potholes in the road near their town on purpose. Actually, he was that cynical, but the roads were so universally terrible, it did not require clever townsfolk hoping for overnight visitors to luck upon them.

The inn was not one that he would have selected on his own, but it would take until morning to manage their repairs, so it would have to do. The common room was so tiny, eating in it required Norina to practically sit on his lap. And the only room available had a single narrow bed and no other furniture, save a uselessly large chest of drawers that prevented him from making a comfortable nest on the floor.

Upon seeing the unacceptable state of the room, Malatesta was about to announce that he would find some corner in the stable with the driver. Norina forestalled him, though. “I guess we will really have to be man and wife for the night.”

He slipped a finger under his suddenly too-tight collar. “Perhaps. Most husbands and wives I know would immediately turn to quarreling in a situation such as ours. In these cases, I believe husbands must find alternative sleeping arrangements. I was just about to check the stables.”

But she slipped and arm around him and pressed her hand against the door. “That’s not what I had in mind.” She pressed her body against his back so that he might have a very good idea of what she might have in mind.

“This is a rather bad idea, as I was trying to explain in the carriage.”

“Why?” she asked, the hand not blocking his exit now exploring his stomach and over his hip and heavens that spot not quite stomach or hip and far too close to his renewed erection. It had a name. That spot. He had learned it when studying to become a doctor. But he found no words as he searched his memory.

“I…well…you see,” he floundered, as her hand wandered closer to his thoughtless prick, which always insisted on causing him trouble. “We’re business partners, and—”

“Yes. You said that before. I’m not interested in that nonsense. Let me show you what I am interested in.”

She turned some lock on the door, and he knew in his current confused state that he had no hope of figuring out how to leave the room before she would be able to stop him. He sighed in resignation, even though he pretended still to fight her by not turning around. He heard her clothes rustling, and he couldn’t imagine what she was doing, or more accurately, fought hard not to picture in his mind what he had imagined so many times before.

She cleared her throat and he took a deep breath.

“Look, Norina, the thing is—”

He had begun this speech before he started turning to face her. He stopped when he saw her. She was naked but for those infuriating, impossible, and entirely unfair pink stockings. Something in him broke at the sight, the words replaced by a low growl in his throat. She had the temerity to grin, but he would soon wipe it off her face.

It took only a step for him to reach her. Her arms were open as though expecting him to fall into them and begin kissing her like a rational, normal man. His intentions were somewhat different.

Without a word, he pushed her back onto the bed, where she still wore the grin, as though he were proceeding precisely as she had planned. She even scooted back and attempted to turn her body longways down the bed to invite him in. He had no intention of joining her on the bed. In fact, her scooting back was the opposite of what he wanted. He fell to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed. With both hands on her hips, he pulled her toward him until he might bury his face between her legs.

She began to swear and he began to lick. And soon her silky legs draped over his shoulders and down his back. He gloried in the taste and scent of her, at first too overwhelmed at his own joy to concentrate on properly seeing to her pleasure. But she would never suffer such inattention, and she took a firm grip on his hair, her nails digging into his scalp. Norina nudged him closer to what she desired, and he now focused on his duty.

He licked her, every part of her from top to bottom, bottom to top, and all around. He stopped only to kiss the insides of her thighs, to nibble gently at them, to bite and suck harder when he realized that gave her pleasure. He pushed a finger inside her, let it search its way through the warm dampness. Now slick, he moved that finger lower, pressed it against her other opening while his tongue once more found the spot that gave her most pleasure.

It was now her turn to growl, and yet his finger waited outside for a more definite invitation. She shoved her whole body toward him, and his finger slipped in. He sucked at her, and she groaned, “God, yes.”

He would have stayed in this position, kneeling on the floor before her all night. But she did not require it. She had not been exaggerating about her desire for him, and she came to him wet and ready. And once he had accepted the task given to him, his focus never wavered.

Suddenly, he could not hear. She silky thighs pressed against his ears and her body spasmed. His finger moved in and out, while his free hand clutched tightly at her hip, holding her firmly to his tongue. She screamed, the sound muffled either because he could not hear, she had covered her face with a pillow, or both. But he felt her joy seep onto his chin and tasted it in his mouth.

He never wanted her pleasure to end, and continued his work until she forced his face away. He sank back onto his heels, damp cheek resting on her thigh. When he looked up at her, he saw her gorgeous breasts heaving as she lay flat on her back, trying to catch her breath.

“See?” he whispered after a minute of watching her, the utterly natural and animal reaction of her body growing so painfully beautiful, he had to speak to stop himself from being lost in the moment. “A terrible idea. We are supposed to be business partners, and now you will be distracted by memories of that when you are supposed to be working.”

She laughed, short and harsh. “Oh, that was the best idea either of us has had since we met. The only problem is that it’s going to take me forever to get myself together so I can return the favor.”

The aching erection in his trousers twitched at this mention. It would be too much to hope for. Too much to live with when they returned to Rome and they had to behave like friends and colleagues.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that. I just have to wash up and we can go to sleep.”

“And have you spearing me with that thing all night? No. That wouldn’t be comfortable for either of us.”

“It’s really no trouble.”

She propped herself up on her elbows so that she might look at him when she said, “We can fuck and still be business partners. I can’t imagine you of all people can’t figure out how to add a little fun into your work.”

“We should at least have some ground rules.”

She sat up, her legs finally slipping off his shoulders and settling at his sides. “Like if you get an orgasm, so do I? I’m absolutely up for that sort of rule.”

“No. I mean like no sex when we’re supposed to be working.”

“Oh fine. Whatever you say. Just kiss me and start taking off your clothes.”

He shifted back searching the room for a towel and possibly a basin of water. “Let me just clean up first.”

“Don’t you dare.” She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him onto the bed with her. He stopped arguing.


	3. Chapter 3

Back in Rome, everything was worse. Norina constantly threw herself at Malatesta, begging him once more for sex. He tried to remain strong and impervious to her considerable charms, but when she stole his cane one day and gave him several sharp swats on the backside, what could he realistically be expected to do? Soon they were having sex in her rooms and his house, in his carriage as they drove to parties, and even once behind a potted fern at a friend’s house.

But whenever he could, he reminded her of business. “When we have a new young man or lady with goods to liberate, we will have to stop.”

At that precise moment, however, he had no intention of stopping. He had come by her rooms to discuss where they might find likely candidates for liberation now that the hot Roman summer had begun and so many people with money had fled the city.

For those who remained in this stifling circle of hell Dante had omitted, the only way to manage the Roman summer was to wear as little as possible. To that end, Malatesta was undressing Norina, unlacing her bodice as he told her they needed to stop sleeping together. He knew she didn’t believe him—he didn’t believe himself—but he whispered the words to her in the moonlight all the same.

“Fine,” she said, her hand finding its way to the front of his trousers with a squeeze. “When we find someone, we can stop. But you said yourself, no one interesting is still in the city. So we have the whole summer, don’t we?”

Her deft hands now set to work opening his trousers, and he focused while he was still yet able on getting her out of her dress. Perhaps he should just give himself over to her way of thinking? What could be all that wrong about having a bit of fun to pass the time over the summer? They had already crossed the Rubicon, as it were, back in that inn on the way home from Venice. Nothing would change if they continued having sex.

“Does your mind ever shut off?” she laughed, his trousers now open, her hand inside.

“What you’re doing right now rather makes me forget my own name.”

She stroked him hard and slow in the way she had quickly discovered drove him wild. “What if I want you to make me forget _my_ name tonight?’

He pulled the final string holding up her dress, and with a swift push, it was puddled on the floor around her feet. Her thin shift hid little, even in the soft light of the night and the city lights. He softly cupped her breast, gradually squeezing until he heard her hiss, her nipple showing through the fabric, and he lowered his mouth to suck on it. Her hand that wasn’t on his erection buried itself in his hair, pressing his face harder against her.

“Then I shall make it my mission,” he whispered, his lips brushing across her breast. “And I will not leave while you can still speak the name ‘Norina.’”

“You should get to fucking me then. I’ve been wet all night waiting for you to get here.”

“Never let it be said I am not your ever-devoted servant.”

“Remember that the next time you try to tell me sleeping together is a bad idea.”

“Please don’t mention that now.”

He pulled her shift over her head, leaving her naked, her beloved stockings having been removed long ago, thanks to the heat. That just left them kissing and scrambling to finish removing his clothes. They had become rather efficient over the past few months at this process when they desired it, and soon he stood before her as naked as she.

“To the bed?” she grinned.

But instead of leading her the two steps to the bed, he took her wrist firmly and spun her around to face the wall. With a single strong step, he had her pushed against the wall, pinning her with his body. She growled in agreement as his erection slotted into the division of her backside, his hands wandering along her sides. He moved her hair over one shoulder so that his mouth might have free rein over her neck. And then she slipped a hand around her body, over her stomach, down to between her legs. He found her as wet as promised, and his hips started to thrust.

But Norina was not passive. No, not her, never a woman to simply take what pleasure she was being offered when she could go out and grab some more. She reached back, one hand lacing its way into his hair, while the other sank into his hip. And she pushed back against him, willing him to keep his body entwined with hers.

“How is it you can fake fuck me better than other men can fuck me for real?” she moaned.

“I’m a doctor,” he said before nipping at her earlobe. “I understand more about the human body than other men.” He circled his finger between her legs in precisely the right way to make her shudder. “I cannot be compared to other men. It’s terribly unfair to them.”

He pushed hard against her and sucked on her shoulder. Her head dropped back, and she swore with pleasure. But he had so much more in store for her tonight.

When her legs began to weaken and he was not merely pressed behind her, but holding her up, Malatesta finally led Norina to the bed as she had originally suggested. He lay her out on her back as he then knelt at the foot of the bed. He kissed the tops of her feet, the insides of her ankles, and slowly moved his mouth first up the right leg to the knee and then down the left. He stroked the insides of her thighs with his hands, but never allowed either to journey all the way up to where she wished for them.

The fact was, she liked being teased, even if she swore she hated it. Most men took one look at her and they were practically ready to spend before they even finished undressing. But he would take his time and show her body the attention it deserved.

And so he bent first one leg and then the other, kissing her knees and caressing the calves. Only after that did he slide farther up her body from his perch between her legs. With long, slow licks like an attentive cat, he moved his tongue across her stomach. Her body trembled, and he sucked hard kisses under her breasts.

She could not keep her body still, and now that she could reach his head, he could tell her every touch along his shoulders longed to be a firm tug of his head to where she desired it. But he wanted her to wait even more. And he longed to prove that he could show control in some situations, no matter what she thought.

He just breathed on her breasts for a moment before letting his lips lightly brush around but never on either nipple. When he moved up to gently kiss her collarbone, she hissed, “Bastard.”

But he only grinned through the kisses he traced on her throat, along her jaw, on her ears and forehead. Finally, as he kissed the tip of her nose ever so softly, she whimpered. He smiled broadly, that sound the one he had been waiting for, knowing it signaled her utter abandonment to him.

He kissed her fiercely, adjusted his body, and pushed deep into her with a single thrust.

She gasped, her nails digging into his back. He set a steady pace, wanting her to feel every time he sank into her. The kisses became frantic and sloppy, and he felt as though they were both incredibly close to being wholly lost in each other.

But he needed more, needed to find a way more entirely into her. He slid a hand under her left knee, pulling her leg up until he could get his arm underneath and hold it pressed back against her body. She gripped him tighter and he buried his face in her neck. Soon, she wrapped her other leg around him, her heel digging into his flesh, pushing him harder and harder inside.

He could feel his climax coming, closer and quicker than he had expected. Had she had enough? He wanted to give her everything. He thought of quickly flipping them over, Norina usually better able to find her pleasure on top of him. But before he could, he felt her hand between their bodies, and he knew that she must be so aroused at this point the lightest touch in the right place would tip her over the edge. Yet, he wanted it to be his hand, so he adjusted, rebalanced, found what he was looking for, and thrust himself into her with utter recklessness.

They reached their climaxes together, or at least so quickly, the one after the other that they nearly overlapped. He collapsed on top of her, hoping that she did not mind his weight, since moving was impossible. She continued to twitch and moan beneath him.

“If you still remember you name, I am not ashamed to admit I am out of ideas for how else I might be of service to you.”

She snorted and then sighed. “You did pretty well. Although, I have some ideas we can try in the future.”

“But not once we’re properly working again, of course.”

She smacked him in the head. “Whenever I say so.”

He sighed and laughed a little himself. “I suppose that is also a possibility. Truly though, it will be no good showing up at a party where you expect to work your magic smelling of me.” He finally rolled off her, sweat coating both of them, but the soft breeze coming through the open door to her roof played across their bodies. She turned over onto her side, fingers sliding though the hair of his chest. He took up this hand and kissed just where wrist and palm met. “I’m serious.”

“No. You’re just afraid you’re going to be jealous,” she snorted.

“I think you’re keeping me in a permanent state of arousal, and I do not look forward to the frustration that awaits me.”

She brushed her thumb over his nipple again and again as it grew taut. “Then we had better fuck some more and get this out of your system now.”

***

And this was still more or less the state of things the fall night they climbed into his carriage to attend a ball at Don Dioli’s. It was a long drive—at least forty minutes—and Norina decided to spend the time using mouth and hands to constantly work him into a state of frenzy before pulling back. It was not until minute thirty-nine of the journey, his list of expletives utterly depleted, his prick deep in her throat, that she finally allowed him to spend. As always, she swallowed everything down, no trace of what she had done other than her smeared lipstick and generally breathless demeanor.

“Handkerchief?” she asked, settling more comfortably on the floor.

Her presented her with his handkerchief and she simply removed what remained of her lipstick. Honestly, her natural color was more than attractive enough, and she still looked stunning. She would be the most beautiful woman at the ball.

“Be sure to grab me a drink as soon as we get in there,” she said, handing the handkerchief back.

He set to wiping himself off and tucking things back where they belonged, not to mention struggling to fully regain his senses, so he just nodded.

Having a task before him, helped refocus Malatesta on why he had come to Don Dioli’s ball in the first place. Yes, he liked a ball in general—dancing, socializing, drinking someone else’s wine, and flirting with beautiful women—but he had professional hopes for the night. Don Dioli had four daughters, ages 14-20, that he very much wished to begin disposing of. To this end, every rich, stupid, and eligible man in the Papal States would be at the ball. They could not all be so lucky as to win the heart of a Dioli girl, and Malatesta hoped just one of these men might take an interest in Norina. Given that as their aim, what he had permitted her to do in the carriage had been reckless and precisely what he had been saying for months they mustn’t do.

“Because I could have stained her clothes,” he thought. “Not because it might lead to me exhibiting inconvenient signs of affection or jealousy.”

They were two of the last to arrive, and they had to make their way through multiple crowded rooms in their quest to find someone promising before arriving at the ballroom. There they scanned the crowd and nodded at friends. In spite of the more than two hundred guests, they could not fix on anyone worth pursuing. That was until Norina yanked on his sleeve, giggling with excitement.

“Over there! Look. Next to the harpist. It’s that poet boy. Apparently, he found his inspiration and returned to Rome.”

Malatesta knew in a heartbeat who she meant. It was, in fact, the poet they had chatted with on the road to Venice. At the time, Malatesta had thought him so promising, he had offered to Norina they skip Venice and the Belmontes and follow the poet instead. He also remembered how relieved he had been when Norina declared that she did not want to go after the handsome boy with dark curls falling in his eyes. But if Malatesta wished to approach this objectively as a business decision, as he insisted to Norina they must when they began sleeping together, then he knew they were fortunate to find the boy here. After all, he was as slow as he was good looking, with plenty of money and no idea how to spend it. This was an excellent opportunity, and they should seize this second chance.

“I don’t know,” Malatesta said. “I doubt he has much money and there’s little chance any relative has trusted him with the time of day, let alone some jewels.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, smacking his arm. “We both agreed he must have lots of money, what with a family villa where he went to find his Muse and all that. Do you remember his name?”

He did. Giordano Pavoni. “Not the slightest clue. He might take it ill if you don’t remember.”

She shrugged. “My tits look great in this dress. He won’t care. I’m going over there. I’ll report back. Good luck finding one of your own.”

Malatesta could only watch her swagger her way across the room, every head she passed turning to follow her progress. This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted, but here they were, Norina happy to suck his prick one minute and then the next acting like a professional on her way to seduce a dim, rich boy. All the while, he stood and sulked, until he remembered that, if nothing else, he could drink to his heart’s content.

Over the next hour, he watched Norina and the poet. They began modestly enough, but soon she was hanging on his arm, laughing at everything he said, petting his lapels. The boy looked flustered, as well he should, as Malatesta had no doubt about that child’s ability to handle a woman like Norina. But eventually he seemed to accept his good fortune at this stunning woman showing interest in him, and he asked her to dance.

He held her too close, and Norina’s terribly clever fingers stroked his neck and earlobes. Malatesta wanted to scream and tear her away, take her home and ravage her. But he hid his ridiculous despair behind a smile, glass after glass of wine, and meaningless small talk with vapid ladies and bilious gentlemen.

Just when he had forgotten about Norina and dear Giordano, or at least stopped tracking their every movement, she sneaked up behind him.

“I need you to do something,” she whispered in his ear, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Oh? You require me this evening?” He thought, perhaps, one or two of these words may have come out a touch slurred, his wine consumption a bit more than he realized.

“Yes. The little poet has laughable ideas about women’s honor. I’m sure if you come play the spurred former lover and he has to defend me, it will make him totally in love with me.”

“Impossible. Our farce in Venice only worked because people didn’t know us there.”

“Give me some credit. I already have a plan for how I’ll slip away to a private spot so no one else sees it.”

“So no one else sees me acting like a jealous fool?”

“Exactly! Trust me. This will work perfectly.”

“It will not,” he said, standing up straight on not terribly steady legs. “I will be departing now. Do you think your new conquest will take you home, or do you need me to leave the carriage?”

“Stop being such a baby. My plan will work, and it doesn’t include him taking me home tonight.”

“In that case, I will leave the carriage. The fresh air will do me a world of good, I have no doubt.”


	4. Chapter 4

He could not even manage his petulant walk home properly. About fifteen minutes into it, he got spectacularly sick in the Tiber. He happened to do so near some boatmen, one of whom promised to row him home for a very reasonable price. The next morning, he noticed the extreme lightness of his money purse, but he could not determine if he had been overcharged or flat out robbed. As the result was the same, he did not see that it mattered much.

What mattered to him far more was the intense pain in his forehead. After drinking as much tea as he thought his stomach might manage (half a cup), he dampened a washcloth and draped it over his eyes as he settled onto the couch for what he intended to be the remainder of the day. Sadly, a visitor was announced, and not just any visitor, but Norina.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” she said, throwing her shawl on one chair and plopping herself in another next to his sick bed. “I need your help today.”

He had peeked out from under his washcloth upon her entry, but liking nothing about this conversation, he replaced it. “I regret to inform you that I am dying today, and you will have to find someone else to help you.”

“You do look like death, but no one will work but you. We’re best as a team, my friend.”

He tried to chuckle, but it only came out as a weak moan. “You looked to have the situation in hand last night when I left. I have no doubt that I am surplus to requirements. Of course, you can feel free to keep the entirety of what you liberate from the poet.”

And then a most extraordinary thing happened—Norina hit him. Actually _hit_ him! She gave him a sharp smack on the upper arm and then another on his chest. It was all quite shocking, and he really couldn’t believe she had done something so violent to him.

“You complete idiot,” she declared at a volume incompatible with the state of his head. “First of all, I would like to point out, that I do not like Giordano. For one, he’s a poet. And for another, _he’s a poet_. Give me some credit. And even if I did like him, why would you care? I thought we were just business partners, as you so often remind me.”

“And if you become involved with someone whose money we are attempting to liberate, genuinely involved, well, that would be the end of our partnership, wouldn’t it? I can’t imagine too many husbands would wish for you to continue in your line of work with a man you have slept with.”

She snorted as he had wanted to earlier but could not because of his recalcitrant head. “Married! Are you still drunk?” She whipped the cloth from his eyes, and he managed to crack them open the slightest touch. “I’m not going to marry Giordano or any other man stupid enough to fall for my tricks. But I will have a better chance of tricking this particular ninny with your help.”

“So, you still want me to pretend to be your spurned lover?”

“Yes. Is that so hard? You’ve pretended to be my husband and you fuck me. And you can occasionally be an idiot. Jealous lover shouldn’t be hard.”

He sighed, ready to cave to her desires, much as he should have foreseen. “To what end? Explain your plan. In detail. I need to know everything, so that I might be able to offer improvements.”

She grinned mischievously, and with that look of joyful abandon—her mouth wide and slightly goofy (if one were being honest), eyes a little squinted, her shoulders raised—he knew he was gone. No longer just her friend, business partner, and occasional fuck. He was smitten. Perhaps the hangover knocked down the last of his defenses, but he could no longer pretend to himself that he was anything other than in love with her.

Malatesta sighed again, no other reaction open to him. Norina pulled her chair closer to the couch. “So, you see, Giordano doesn’t want to sleep with me. Well, he does, very much, but he’s old-fashioned about women’s honor. I think we play to that sense of honor. He will either get so turned on he will give in and sleep with me, or give me money to protect my honor from the horrid man who won’t leave me alone.”

“He might sleep with you to protect your virtue?”

She shrugged. “You men are weird. I think if we get him thinking enough about my virtue, that will put sex so much on his mind, he might not be able to stop himself.”

“But won’t that just lead to a proposal? That won’t do us any good.” His stomach lurched at the thought, and he really did not need things that upset his stomach today.

“If it does, I will already be in his home, and I’ll just rob him. He can’t very well go to the authorities. How would he explain my presence in his house?”

He could see her point, and he found himself agreeing with her in all particulars when he looked at the thing dispassionately. But where Norina was concerned, he had a difficult time keeping passion out of the equation. “And what precisely shall I do to set this fit of virtue protection into action?”

She frowned at him now, and he got the feeling he had already failed her. “I was going to suggest the party tonight at Don Pasquale’s, but I don’t see you being much help tonight.”

“No, no. I can be entirely presentable and suitably jealous by tonight. Besides, will it not add authenticity if I appear to have taken to drowning my sorrows about you?”

“We could just wait until the Raimondis’ party tomorrow afternoon. The weather is supposed to be good, and their garden has those ridiculous arborvitae hedges designed for having heated confrontations.”

“And Don Pasquale’s tonight?”

“He’s going broke. The wine will probably be cheap. I say you and I have a quiet night in while Giordano’s affections for me grow on their own.”

Somehow, he managed his first smile of the day. “Perhaps that is for the best. And we will have more time to script our little farce. So,” he said, struggling to an almost seated position. “We are to be former lovers. When did we part? And why? Clearly, I was a fool. How intimate did we become? Come, now. A good liberation is in the details.”

***

The following day, Malatesta felt absolutely stupendous, and he thanked his good fortune this opportunity at the Raimondis’ had allowed him to skip Don Pasquale’s the night before, where he would not have been at his best. Also, Norina looked ravishing in a yellow summer dress, all cleavage and smiles under the bright sun. He, in fact, rather wanted to stare at her a bit too much. Only Giordano was supposed to believe they were former lovers, after all. The rest of Roman society should rather not be led to the same conclusion.

So, he stood under an overly pruned tree that barely kept the sun off, talking to some matrons. They all had problems that boiled down to feeling tired and no longer fitting into their favorite dresses. One complained she snapped at servants, even though she had long been the most mild-mannered mistress in all of Rome. If he were an honest doctor, he would have said these were all common complaints when ladies reached a certain age. But instead, he talked about malaise, the different kinds and causes, and recommended an extra glass of wine. The ladies seemed quite pleased with this prescription, and they trotted off to dose themselves immediately.

This left him there to stare stupidly at Norina (radiant girl) talking to Giordano (simpering poet) waiting for the signal.

It was another ten minutes and a boring conversation with the host about species of juniper before Norina rose to head off in the direction of the tall arborvitae. She flicked her handkerchief behind, letting him know that he should follow as soon as possible. Malatesta laughed extravagantly at the story Raimondi had begun about his gardener and slapped his host on the back.

“Fascinating, truly. Will you excuse me for a moment.”

And with that, he circled around the garden to meet Norina for the next phase of the plan.

He found her sitting on a bench in the shade. The moment she saw him, she began laughing and slapping her knee. He couldn’t help smiling as well.

“Yes?” he asked, hurrying to her side and whispering. “What’s so funny?”

“Giordano,” she answered. “He wants to challenge you to a duel! What do you think?”

Malatesta stopped laughing. “If I kill him, you won’t be able to liberate anything from him. And if he kills me, I will no longer be in a position to enjoy what you do liberate. I’m afraid it’s not a workable addition to the plan.”

Norina smacked his shoulder, none too gently. “I wouldn’t actually let the duel happen. I suppose we will be fine with the current plan. But be ready for him to offer.”

“Noted. So, what precisely did you tell him before you came away and will he follow?”

“I told him I needed to be alone for a minute where I didn’t have to see you. As soon as he sees you’re gone, I have no doubt he’ll come to find me.”

“Well then, let us hope he is more observant of his surroundings than he is of proper rhyme schemes. What do you think you will be able to get from him if he does happen to see me pressing my suit?”

“I’m thinking somewhere to live. Either something he rents, or better, the money for me to find something myself. I don’t think he’ll want to put his name on a lease for the rooms where he keeps a woman, so I’m guessing money.”

“So that I can never find you again?”

“Exactly. Also, I think—Oh, wait! Here he comes! Kiss me like you mean it.”

He growled softly, knowing quite well that every time he kissed Norina he meant it more than he ought. As they had planned yesterday for this moment, he found himself wondering how much she suspected about his feelings. She couldn’t possibly understand everything, seeing as how he did not understand it all himself. But as his jealousy and desire grew to proportions he could no longer ignore, he knew that he had feelings.

Serious feelings.

 _Love_ feelings.

He moaned as he thought again about this new problem of his. Norina took it as some sort of sign to pull back from him. With his eyes still closed, he sighed and braced himself.

Norina slapped him hard across the face.

“You fiend! You degenerate!” she hissed at him. “I told you I never wanted to see you again. But still, you insist on showing up at every party I attend, always trying to get me off to some dark corner.”

“But it is not dark, my love,” he said, gripping her hand tightly between his own so she could not pull away. “Here, in the light of day, I vow to follow you everywhere until you agree to take me back! I cannot live without you!”

“Stop your tongue, thy foul serpent!” the poet declared, luckily from behind Malatesta so he could not see the serpent barely able to contain his laughter.

“What do you want, boy?” Malatesta asked as he whirled around to face him. “This is a private conversation.”

“A conversation the lady does not desire. You will leave her alone or face my challenge.”

Malatesta harrumphed as he got to his feet. “You would dare challenge me? One of the finest swordsmen in Rome?” He flourished his cane in a manner similar to that shown him as a child by a fencing master. (A master who had left after two months of instruction when Malatesta’s father decided, rightly, Malatesta was far too much of a danger to himself to continue.)

It had the desired effect, though, as Giordano blanched and stuttered. Malatesta took a single step toward the boy, his cane pointed like a rapier. But he stopped and swung back around to now point his cane at Norina. “Anywhere. I will find you.” Flourishing his cane a bit more, he stalked off back to the house.

Now it was Norina’s turn to work her magic. She needed to convince the dumb boy to help protect her from the terrible and dangerous old man. Malatesta guessed that Giordano would be even more eager to help Norina financially rather than challenge Malatesta to a duel. With any luck, Norina would be at his house later that night with a bag bursting with scudi. He certainly hoped so, because he was in the mood to celebrate.

He just needed to not think about how celebrating would feel in his heart. His prick, of course, assumed it would be quite lovely.

With a smile and an apology, he informed the Raimondis that he had to leave early, and he headed home to await Norina.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t until well after Malatesta finished supper and sent all his servants off for the night that Norina at last appeared. Her face was disturbingly neutral when he answered the door and all the way upstairs. He intended to take her to his study, but she grabbed his hand and yanked him into his bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind them.

Once inside, she frowned as she looked him up and down. As he had been expecting her, he had mostly remained dressed—trousers, shirt, vest, and scarf, although he had traded his shoes for slippers and taken off his jacket. He could not guess what she found so interesting about his person at this moment.

“You should strip and get on the bed,” she finally said.

He met this declaration with a raised eyebrow. “You do? May I ask what for?”

“Because I deserve whatever I want tonight.” She took a money purse from under her cloak and threw it at him.

He caught it, but it nearly knocked him over and into the very position she had requested. “How much?” he asked, pulling open the bag.

“Enough that you owe me whatever I want.”

The amount was staggering. This wasn’t what you gave someone so they might pay rent for a few months—it was how much you gave someone so they might buy a house. He’d never expected Giordano to be quite this rich or stupid. But Norina was that good, and that explained everything as far as he was concerned.

“As you desire,” he answered, yanking the string closed tightly before tossing the bag onto a chair. “I am entirely at your disposal.”

“Good.” She stepped up to him and unwound his scarf while teasing him with kisses that didn’t quite land. “I hope you’re ready for a long night.”

“My dear, I could not be more prepared for anything you have in mind. I am awake, alert, and full of vigor.”

“That’s very nice, but maybe less talking and more undressing.”

He nodded to the wisdom of her statement and redoubled his efforts to unbutton his vest. While he undressed, she wandered around his room twisting his scarf in her hands. She only stopped long enough to drop her cloak on the chest at the end of the bed and remove her gloves. When she turned around to look at him again, like the good boy he was striving to be for her, he stood there naked.

“Very well then,” she said, staring at his gradually forming erection. “On the bed with you.”

“Don’t you want any help out of your dress?” he asked while doing as he was told.

“I’ve had what I want to do planned. Everything is laced and strapped so I can take care of it myself. You just worry about following orders.”

She had come here tonight with a plan. A plan for fucking him. Nothing she had ever done before had ever been quite as unbearably sexy, and God help him, everything she did was sexy. He stretched out, resting his head on the pillows, his prick now entirely hard for Norina.

“There’s something important I have to do now,” she said as she stalked over to the head of the bed. “I can’t risk you getting away.” She climbed onto the bed, kneeling next to the pillows. First she took his right wrist and circled his scarf around it before then looping the scarf through the spindles of his headboard. “The other wrist now.”

He looked at her for a moment, this being a little game they had not played together before. But he had said he was hers to do with as she pleased tonight, so he offered his other wrist. As she wrapped the scarf around and then pulled the end tight through the headboard, he said, “I wouldn’t have gone anywhere.”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “I know. Still,” she added, now getting back up, “I want you exactly where I want you. No complaints.”

She smiled wickedly and walked over to the table by the door. He had shown her upstairs carrying a lamp, but they had not lit anything else in the room. She now took out several candles and set them aflame, putting two each on both bedside tables. He just watched her move around the room, a little more illuminated, her beauty easier to see with each candle she lit.

And then, at last, she seemed satisfied with the lighting situation and began undressing. “So, you and I should have a little chat while I have your complete attention,” she said, pulling free the laces holding her dress in place.

“I’m not sure how undivided my attention will be on your words if you continue undressing. I thought I owed it to you to confess as much. In case you were concerned about such things.”

She smirked while she finished with the laces at her bodice and slipped her dress off her shoulders. “Yes. You do owe me quite a bit. That’s what I want to talk about.”

“You have unquestionably performed our largest liberation,” he nodded, attempting to remain professional, even with precum dripping on his stomach. But she had now wiggled out of her shift, and there was really only so much he could be expected to tolerate. “And you did it with minimal help from me.”

“Yes, I did.” She hooked her thumbs into the top of one of her stockings. Then she propped her foot on the chest at the end of the bed, rolling it down with torturous slowness. “And that is what we need to talk about. Why you weren’t very helpful.”

Malatesta, sighed, not really wanting to address his feelings with Norina at any point, but certain not while he was tied naked to a bed. Dammit! She really had planned all of this, hadn’t she? “I was a bit distracted. I apologize and promise it shall never happen again.”

She finally peeled the stocking off, and he may have whimpered softly. “Distracted?” she shook her head and tsked. Then she took hold of his right ankle and wrapped her stocking around it and then around the post at the end of the bed. “And why were you distracted?”

As his heart raced with something akin to fear, his prick throbbed with need. He’d never been less able to think clearly. And yet, Norina demanded answers. “I…I did not like the look of that poet,” he said quite lamely, he well knew.

Tsking at him once more, she rolled the other stocking down her very shapely leg. His whole body ached with anticipation. “What didn’t you like the look of? How handsome he was?” This time, she wasn’t gentle, and yanked his final free limb toward the corner of the bed. “You were jealous. Admit it.”

He definitely whimpered now as she tied his ankle to the bedpost with her stocking. He closed his eyes not wanting to look at her face or her body, and still less at his own, over which he retained absolutely no control now. He could not avoid answering forever, so he might as well get it over with.

“Alright. Fine. I was jealous. The thought of that handsome idiot even _looking_ at you made me feel sick.”

Nails scratched hard at his thigh, and he finally opened his eyes to see Norina kneeling on the bed, naked, holding a candle.

“And why were you jealous? Why didn’t you want him looking at me?”

“Because…because we’re business partners.”

She tipped the candle, and wax dribbled on his chest.

He couldn’t entirely contain his yelp, but he managed to convert it mostly to an almost manly growl. It hurt like hell, but the wax also made his prick jump. The moment was too much. If he had any mind or will of his own beyond Norina, Malatesta had utterly lost it.

“Try again,” she said, swapping out candles before straddling his thighs. She dumped a little more wax on his stomach, seeming to set his whole world on fire. “Why were you jealous?”

“Because I love you,” he blurted out. “Because I want to be the only man who touches you.”

Norina whooped in victory. “Ha! I knew it! And I knew you would never want to admit it.”

“Why? Why torture me like this?” he asked, more madly in love with her because of the torture.

“You silly man! And you call Giordano an idiot. Because I love you, too. Isn’t it obvious?”

He wanted to reply, but he was too stunned. Norina chuckled at him, and then she held the candle steady while she leaned over and kissed his chest just above where she had spilled the wax the first time. “And so I could mark you clearly as mine without any argument.” She spilled the rest of the wax just over his heart and then pressed her thumb into it. “There. My seal on you. All mine.”

“All yours,” he said breathlessly, hardly able to believe what glorious event had occurred here just now in his bed.

“And now your reward.”

With that, she placed the candle back on the table and scooted into position, holding his erection in place so she could lower herself onto it. She had never felt so perfect around him or looked so stunning above him. He longed to touch her and hold her, press her to him so that she knew that she was his. But worst of all, he was so on edge, he knew he would only last an impossibly short time.

“I can’t hold on long.”

She threw the hair that had tumbled into her face over her shoulder and looked at him, a determined angel of love. Then she slid a hand down to where their bodies met. An immediate groan of pleasure escaped from her. “Just hold on for a little bit. I’m so close.”

And somehow, he did hold on, and it wasn’t until her unmistakable spasms began that he let himself relax, let himself go. She yelled profanities and he called out her name. Then she collapsed atop him, sighing and laughing as he grew soft inside her.

“I always knew you would like being tied up,” she mumbled into his chest.

“And the wax?”

“Oh, that we just got lucky with.”

He chuckled, but he didn’t allow himself to laugh too hard, not wanting to disturb her. His Norina. Lying on his chest, spent and happy, and _his_. He felt giddy. “And how would you like me to pour hot wax on you sometime?” he asked.

“Ugh! Not at all. Look. I burnt my thumb.” She stuck her thumb, which looked entirely fine to him, in his face. He kissed it.

They both laughed now, and then Norina added, “But if you think I’ve been bad sometime, well, I have had some thoughts about that cane of yours.”

“Really?” he grinned, very much anticipating Norina’s future naughtiness. “I shall have to remember that vital piece of information.”

They lay there quiet and content for a bit longer until he felt the pull in his limbs. “Is there any chance you’re going to untie me sometime in the near future?”

Norina made snoring sounds.

“I call this very bad behavior, you know,” he purred against the top of her lovely head, his prick wondering if he might have more in him tonight. “I might have to do something about it.”

“Really? But, oh, whatever shall you do?” she giggled, gently stroking his hip, her soft fingers setting free his heart and imagination if not his actual limbs.

“Whatever shall I do, indeed.”


End file.
